The party seated round the circular table. Leicester in the seat of honour with Lady Margaret on his right and his wife Lettice opposite him. A vivid flash of lightning, Lady Margaret springing up with a cry of fright, jolting the table. Things sliding about. I had stopped a candlestick and a dish of meat from hurtling off the table on to Hatton’s knees and I had grabbed some slithering wineglasses, thrusting them back where they belonged.
Or had I? They had been the glasses used by Lettice, by Lady Margaret and by Leicester himself. Stopping them had been awkward, as I had only one hand. The other had just dealt with the candlestick and was still keeping the dish of meat under control. In pushing the glasses back and allocating them to their owners … I saw it now, as clearly as though it were happening before my eyes. Leicester’s glass had been, as it were, first in the race. As I thrust it back, it had bumped into Lady Margaret’s and then slid past it on the other side. Suddenly, I was certain. It had come from Leicester’s place and when the glasses first began to slide, it was the one furthest to my right. But in replacing them, I had accidentally let it become the centre one, with Lady Margaret’s glass to my right. And that was the glass I had unintentionally given to Leicester. His glass had gone to her and hers to him. Only Lettice had had her proper glass restored.
I sat up in bed, confused. Was I correct? Why had I never thought of it before? But yes, I did have it right. I knew I did. Now, work it out, Ursula. Think. Assume that Antoine tampered in some way with that keg. But whatever he put in it wasn’t lethal. It had made the rest of us just ill. Including Antoine himself. He perhaps hadn’t drunk much of his wine and he could have exaggerated his symptoms. He knew that whatever he had done to the wine wouldn’t kill him, anyway, or us, either. What had it been? Something to induce sickness and some kind of laxative? At home, Gladys had such things in her repertoire of herbal remedies. There were children about – Harry, the three-year-old toddler Johnny who was the son of Simon, one of my grooms, and his wife, Netta. They also had a two-year-old daughter, Rosie. Where there were children, there was always the chance that however earnestly you warned them never to eat berries from bushes unless an adult were there to say it was safe, one of them would forget, be attracted by a pretty, colourful berry and eat poison. Potions to clear poisons out of the system were kept in most households where there were children. Something of the sort had been in that wine, I thought.
Only, somehow or other, something else, something really lethal had been put into Leicester’s glass, and only his – except that his had ended up at Lady Margaret’s place.
Leicester, then, had been the intended victim.
Well, what would have happened if Leicester had died, poisoned after drinking wine sent to him as a supposed gift from de Simier? It was well known that Leicester was opposed to the marriage. He had influence with the queen and though de Simier had discredited him with Elizabeth by revealing his secret marriage, he would probably creep back into favour. Could that after all point a finger at de Simier? Had he tried to dispose of Leicester, not out of revenge, but in order to remove a man he and perhaps Alençon too, saw as an enemy?
No, impossible. If it were found that Leicester had been the victim of a murderous plot by either the duke or his man, that would assuredly turn Elizabeth against the marriage. If Leicester had died, Elizabeth would have grieved bitterly and she would not forgive anyone who was even suspected of having a hand in his demise. I thought that both the duke and de Simier would have the intelligence to realize that. Murdering Leicester wouldn’t help the marriage along, but the opposite.
Who else, then, might want the marriage stopped? The answer to that was no mystery. Janus had reported that there were people who were scheming against it, and it wasn’t hard to name some of the factions. Spain certainly wouldn’t like it. An alliance between her hereditary enemy France and her Protestant rival, England? Perish the thought!
And Antoine, in a moment of panic, had cried out in Spanish.
I lay back, heart pounding.
Antoine could have tampered with the keg easily enough. It had been stored in his room. But how had he poisoned Leicester’s glass?
Yes, how? After the jug had been brought to the table, Antoine had filled our glasses himself, yes. But he had done it in front of us, in full view. If he had put anything into Leicester’s glass other than wine from that jug, I – and the others – would have seen him do it.
That Antoine was responsible for poisoning the wine seemed all too likely, but how he had done it remained unanswered.
‘Stop!’ barked Elizabeth. The two ladies who were playing the spinet and lute for the pavane we were practising hastily snatched their hands off their instruments and the one at the spinet said: ‘I am sorry, ma’am, it was my fault …’
‘Yes, Lady Frances, it was,’ said Elizabeth belligerently. ‘You went straight on into the next phrase, while Mary, on her lute, did as I told both of you and repeated the three bars before, and a fine jangle of discords you produced. We are practising a variant of the dance, to allow couples to revolve on the spot a second time before proceeding further round the floor. The same variant is repeated ten bars later. Why do you not listen to my instructions?’
‘I am sorry, ma’am! But I am so accustomed … my fingers know the melody by heart …
‘You are supposed to keep control of both your fingers and your heart! Now, again, from the beginning!’
It was Elizabeth’s habit, unless business matters such as Council meetings or audiences for ambassadors, delegations or sometimes private people should intervene, to spend part of the morning in dancing practice. Being skilled in music as well as in dancing, Elizabeth was quite capable of inventing her own variations to any given dance, and sometimes confused her ladies sadly in the process. This was one such time, and Elizabeth, clearly, was once more in a bad temper. Some people put this down to the fact that she was missing Alençon; some thought she might be missing Leicester more. Privately, I had a different theory.
It was the day after the masque. Brockley had gone to see Mealy off to Hawkswood and then intended to take Firefly out. I had been bidden to attend the dancing practice. I was getting a clear view of Elizabeth’s frame of mind and after all, I knew her well. If my guess was right, I pitied her.
The music started again, with one or two wrong notes. Elizabeth swore and Lady Frances said unhappily that the sun was in her eyes and she couldn’t see her music properly. ‘You complain because after last night’s storm, we now have sunshine?’ said Elizabeth dangerously.
I sympathized with Lady Frances, for the sunlight streaming through the tall, slender windows into the small hall where we were dancing was very bright, as though the rain a few hours ago had washed the face of the sun. Elizabeth caught my eye and said: ‘Ursula, take over the spinet. You know the melody, I think. See if you can put in the changes.’
Lady Frances rose from her stool, looking thankful, and I took her place. The practice went on.
I succeeded in following the new instructions without disaster, perhaps because I wasn’t nervous. Unlike Lady Frances, I wouldn’t really mind if Elizabeth were to lose her temper with me and order me out of the court. I had a home and a life of my own; I was not one of her paid attendants.
Indeed, I longed to return to Hawkswood and Elizabeth would probably let me go, now that Leicester was no longer suspected of trying to murder de Simier. I was only staying because …
Because I wanted to unearth the end of the mysterious attempt to poison Leicester, and I couldn’t, not until I could see how.
Back in my apartment, Dale was repairing the embroidered hem of the gown I had worn at the masque. In the disturbance over de Lacey’s accident, I had trodden on it. I tried to settle to a little sewing as well but I was restless. We took a small midday meal in the common dining chamber, and then, leaving Dale to go on repairing embroidery, I went out to take Jewel for a ride in the nearby deer park.
The storm had cleared the air and the w
ind was fresh. I cantered through the park, glad to be away from the palace, and indifferent to the fact that court ladies weren’t supposed to ride alone. I was tired of court protocol and proprieties, weary of a world infested by plots and people who said one thing while they were thinking of something quite different. I wanted to go home so very, very much.
In the park, though the mating season for the fallow deer was over, the spotted stags were still in full antler and some were still restless. I hadn’t heard of anyone being attacked by a fallow stag – though red stags sometimes chased people during the rut – but Dale would have been nervous if she had been with me. I felt safe enough on horseback. On Jewel, I was merely an excrescence on the back of an animal belonging to another species. It struck me suddenly that much of the trouble surrounding the queen and the future of England sprang from human equivalents of competing stags. The desire for power was so universal, and so dangerous. I wished even more strongly that I could get away to Hawkswood.
I found the ride soothing, however, and returned from it eased, though still homesick. I had come to a decision. There had been others beside myself at that dinner. I was as sure as I could be that Antoine had been responsible for poisoning Leicester’s glass. I couldn’t imagine how, but perhaps one of the others had noticed something. I must ask them. I went in search of Sir Christopher Hatton.
TWENTY-THREE
Wooden Spoon
Sir Christopher was attending on the queen, and it was near the end of the afternoon before he left her and I managed to accost him in one of the wide galleries between her quarters and his. It was not a successful meeting. He was courteous, because he was always so; Hatton was a gentleman. But even when I had given him all my reasons for suspecting Antoine de Lacey, he refused to be helpful.
‘Look, Ursula, the food-poisoning story has been accepted and may well be the truth. And …’
‘The keg was tampered with,’ I insisted. ‘And de Lacey, in that moment of panic, called out in Spanish. And the glass of wine that Lady Margaret drank was originally Leicester’s.’
‘You can’t be sure of that. You could be wrong about which glass was pushed back to which place. The keg may have been tampered with, or may not. There could be other reasons for making a hole in the lid and then sealing it again …’
‘Such as?’
‘To check on the contents; to make sure the vintners hadn’t cheated, something like that. As for de Lacey’s exclamation; are you sure you heard it correctly?’
‘Yes, I am!’ I looked at him in exasperation. ‘You mean, there’s to be no scandal! But what if a further attempt is made on Leicester’s life? What if it succeeds?’
‘Leicester is no fool. What you are suggesting has occurred to him already – even though he doesn’t know how it was done, and knows nothing of these pieces of evidence you describe. He is taking precautions.’
‘How much does the queen know?’
‘Everything that Leicester and I have thought of. But she of all people wants to avoid scandal! If the people of England came to suspect that Alençon or his henchman de Simier were trying to dispose of the Earl of Leicester because he objects to Alençon’s suit, there would be a terrible outcry against them and therefore against the marriage. Dear Mistress Stannard, leave it alone.’
It was useless to argue with him. ‘Very well,’ I said, and turned resentfully away. It was too late to do any more that day, but tomorrow, I told myself, I would go to Wanstead.
I left early, mainly so as to be out of Richmond Palace and therefore out of reach before, as was quite likely, the queen could send for me to play the spinet for her dancing practice again. I took Brockley as my escort but not Dale, who was tired and complained that she couldn’t abide all this disturbance and didn’t feel up to travelling to Wanstead again. For once, she was willing for me to go alone with Brockley.
I really would have to take more care of Dale, I thought. Life with me had never been easy for her and she wasn’t getting any younger.
The Earl of Leicester was at home and as hospitable as ever, summoning someone to take my cloak, ushering me into a parlour, asking for news of the court and the queen, sending for refreshments, calling to Lettice to join us. But when I broached the reason for my visit and asked if he had seen de Lacey do anything suspicious, his face darkened.
‘Mistress Stannard, you were present when Hatton and I put it to all of you that the best thing we could do was to accept that we had been the accidental victims of food poisoning. Because it is very important that—’
‘There should be no scandal.’ I interrupted him in a peremptory fashion, which sent his eyebrows up, but I was so very weary of that phrase. The whole subject of that dreadful dinner was becoming like an old song, with a repeated refrain that jarred more whenever it was repeated.
‘Quite,’ said Leicester. ‘Scandal must be avoided at all costs. You must not think, Mistress Stannard, that it hasn’t occurred to me that I could have been the target, and that the scheme somehow went amiss … yes?’
I had opened my mouth again and with an air of gracious consideration towards someone who was being a nuisance, he paused to let me speak. ‘I am quite sure,’ I said, ‘that when Lady Margaret jolted the table and sent wineglasses sliding and I pushed them, I accidentally exchanged two of them. You got Lady Margaret’s glass and she received yours.’
‘You may be right. I am not saying that you aren’t. But I am saying that it would be wiser to keep silence, to stop public feeling from developing. In France there are those who don’t want the marriage to take place, but there is also a strong faction here who object to the idea of the queen wedding a Catholic prince.’
I thought of the things we had heard on the journey back from Cornwall, and was silent.
‘Believe me,’ said Leicester, with feeling, ‘I realize that I could be in danger. I am safeguarding myself. I have men here; there is someone on watch all the time, including all through the night. I am not attending functions or accepting invitations; nor am I now angling for a summons back to court. When I ride out, I take an escort and I never go in the same direction twice running, or return by the same route as I used when setting out. My kitchen staff have all been with me for years and Lettice herself oversees their work, anyway. Do you not, Lettice, my love?’
‘Yes.’ His countess had been sitting quietly, bestirring herself only to pour wine for us and offer us cinnamon cakes. ‘I am constantly in and out of the kitchen,’ she said now. ‘And the cooks are all obliged to taste the food they prepare, before serving it.’
‘As for your question about how de Lacey could have contaminated the wine that day,’ said Leicester, ‘I certainly didn’t see him do anything even remotely suspicious.’
It was no use. I thanked him for his time and his hospitality, declined an invitation to dine and prepared to leave. ‘Your cloak is hanging up in the entrance vestibule,’ Lettice said, very much the gracious hostess. ‘We will fetch it on the way out. I will see Mistress Stannard to her horse,’ she added smilingly to Leicester. ‘You haven’t finished your wine. At least our wine supplies are safe! Come, Mistress Stannard.’
Once we were in the vestibule, she lifted my cloak from the hook where it was hanging, and said: ‘I think I know how de Lacey could have poisoned one of the wineglasses and now that we know how my lord’s glass was exchanged for Lady Margaret’s, it all hangs together. My husband wouldn’t want me to tell you what I think. He knows, of course, from me. Only I think you should know. I am not so disturbed by the thought of scandal as my lord is. In my view, anything that could stop the Alençon marriage is a good thing. It’s not safe for the queen or for the country. My husband can talk solemnly about the queen being the only one who can decide, but the rest of us would have to live with the results.’
She scanned my face anxiously, as if seeking permission to go on. Her eyes, which were indeed the matt blue of sloe berries and so often looked both sleepy and come-hither, were now sharp with intelligen
ce instead.
‘Tell me quickly,’ I said. ‘Before we’re interrupted. Your husband might wonder what we’re lingering to gossip about!’
‘At that awful dinner,’ said Lettice, dropping her voice, ‘I was sitting opposite Robin. You were beside him. When the wine flagon was brought to the table and de Lacey refilled everyone’s glasses, he didn’t walk round the table to do it, or even reach round him. He leant forward from his place, which was roughly opposite you and Sir Christopher and sideways on to me, and he filled the glasses one at a time, drawing them towards him, each in turn. He was quite quick about it, but I thought at the time that he’d positioned himself rather oddly, though I didn’t then attach much importance to it. Do you remember?’
‘No, I can’t say that I do. How do you mean?’
‘I mean that I don’t think any of us could see exactly what he was doing. He had those big sleeves, puffed from shoulder to elbow, if you recall. His right sleeve completely blocked my view. He was also slightly turned, so that my husband and Lady Margaret must have been looking at his left shoulder. And neither you nor Sir Christopher could have seen exactly what he was doing either because somehow, he curved his left arm round and the sleeve of that one hid the glasses from you as well. It did look awkward. But since then, I’ve wondered if it was deliberate, so that no one could see his hands. Well, could you?’
‘I … I can’t remember.’ I thought about it, casting my mind back. ‘No, perhaps not.’
‘And do you recall,’ said Lettice, ‘that de Lacey spilt some of the wine when he was pouring it, and swore?’
‘Yes, I remember that! I thought he was being a little unjust when he complained that he couldn’t see why the servants should be upset by the storm.’
A Deadly Betrothal Page 19